Page 43 of The Way We Swing Back

His eyes scrunched up. “For what?”

“For that thing I said. At the New Year’s Eve party.”

The word still turned my stomach. Faggot. I’d thrown it at him when I needed someone else to bleed, to cover up who I was. Who I am. And he’d gone and come out anyway, brave enough to do the thing I couldn’t. I’d never actually apologized. Not the way he deserved.

“Oh. Yeah you did, at Gavin’s birthday.”

The words jumped out. Just like that word I’d used. “No. Like that barely counted. What I said... it wasn’t right. And it wasn’t fair to you, at all.”

“Shit happens. You were drunk. We’re good now. Okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

I sucked in a breath. Time to move forward. “How’s Calvin?”

Tanner hesitated. “He’s good. Really good, actually.” He glanced at me, then away, his hood hiding half his face. “I don’t really know how to talk to you about him.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

He paused and looked back at me. “He’s good, though, and we’re happy. Last week, the night I told him about this trip, he even joked about getting married someday and having kids we could take on vacation."

“Dude, you can’t even buy beer yet.”

“That’s what I said! He’s wild, though. Already has it all planned out and everything.”

“Happy for you, though," I said, trying to get that image as far out of my mind as possible. My feet clung to the ground a second too long as I stared into the darkness and inhaled slowly.

“But Easton. You’ll get there, just like I did. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ready for what, he didn’t say. But we both knew.

Chapter 20

The end of summer came fast; Tanner and I hadn’t had any alone time post-trip, and he’d moved back in at school a week ago.

I’d written out a text to him earlier today but hadn’t been able to will myself to hit send. It had been a rough one—Coach Berrios had said he thought a Division II school was going to make me an offer, but when they’d heard of my shoulder injury, they’d decided to go in another direction. With senior year approaching, my time was dwindling fast.

I should’ve gone to the Quinns’ tonight, but the allure of a Bud Light was too much, so instead I sat in the garage, enjoying my sixth—or was it seventh?—of the day.

I rolled in my thoughts; tonight’s featured flashbacks to the title game last year, and I replayed that last at-bat on a loop. Smooth, strong swing. Hit the barrel. A line drive right at the second baseman.

A loud thumping broke me out of my trance.

Zach had never been the quietest person in the world. Every time he entered a room, it was as if a bull had entered a china shop. So, when the door to my grandparents’ garage barged open without so much as a knock, I knew it had to be him. I didn’t even glance up.

“You missed practice,” he said. His dark hair was wet with sweat underneath his cap; it always amazed me how Tanner and Gavin looked so similar but Zach strayed in many ways. Normal-sized ears and nose, mainly. But the one thing they shared was their pissed-off face, and Zach wore it now.

“I needed a day off,” I said, stumbling to push the can of Bud Light underneath my seat.

“Bullshit,” Zach snapped. “You’re fucking drunk.”

“Like I said, day off,” I laughed. “Have one with me.”

“Hell no, Easton, get a grip.”

“You used to be fun. We’ve drunk before,” I said, words slurring.